


When I Get Home

by 221Btls



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Reichenbach Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Btls/pseuds/221Btls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fate far more painful than death awaited Sherlock on the sidewalk of St Barts, the knowledge that he had hurt the person he cared most about in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Get Home

**Author's Note:**

> When I Get Home is a song off of the Beatles A Hard Day's Night album.

Sherlock didn't notice the orange shock blanket that Molly wrapped around his shoulders. Even had he, he wouldn't have laughed...there was no one there to laugh with him. Ever since that first night when John had shot the cabbie and Sherlock had declared himself in shock ('Look, I've got a shock blanket'), whenever they saw an orange blanket, they couldn't help but break into at least a small fit of giggles. And in their line of business, that was a fairly frequent event.

But not this time. His body trembling, he recalled the 4 story free-fall down the side of St Bart's; he recalled landing safely, miraculously, in the open lorry.

These were not the things that were affecting him. No. That was not what was causing such an unwelcome physiological response.

No, it was what happened after the homeless network, disguised in the normal everyday wear of medical and business professionals, gathered around him as he lied on the ground, shielding him, keeping others from finding out the truth.

It was what happened when he heard a set of footsteps stumbling toward him. It was far from John's normal gait, yet he knew with absolute certainty it was HIM.

It was... the memory of the anguished voice, strangled with sorrow, 'Let me come through; let me come through, please. He's my friend; he's my friend, please.'

THAT moment, the moment that was an unanticipated variable in the day's events, that was what was affecting him. And he had thought he had been clever, had covered all the possibilities.

When he heard John's voice it had taken everything he had to remain motionless, to not reveal he was alive, for the truth was it had been only moments ago, atop the roof, that he had realized how very much he cared about him. To hear the pain in John's voice, to deceive him in such a manner was almost more than he could bear. With his eye's lifeless and unseeing, Sherlock's head screamed; the only thing that kept the sound from reaching his mouth was years of practice, years of executing disguise after disguise, of keeping what was really going on inside his brain in check.

As he lie there on the cold concrete, Sherlock desperately wanted to comfort John. And to ease the pain in his own heart. But to do so would be to negate the very reason he was suffering this act~ to make sure John came to no harm.

No, he had to carry on.

\-----------

Sherlock didn't feel the gentle ministrations of Molly as she cleaned the blood, real intermingled with fake, from his hair and forehead. He didn't hear her soft murmurs as she applied antiseptic to his minor scrapes, telling him he was okay, he would be just fine.

That John was fine.

Much later, after some of the fuss died down, he left St Bart's dressed in the discomfort of a stranger's costume of jeans, runners, and a hoody. His eyes soulless, his heart just as devoid of feeling, he lifted his chin in resolve; there was only one thought, one goal in his world.

Walking down the street, alone, more alone than he had ever been, he looked back. Looked back and saw the solitary figure standing away from the small crowd of policemen. Even at that distance, the distance that increased with every step, he could see the slight stoop to the shoulders, the faint weakness in the right knee.

Just for a moment, his resolve broke.

For the second time that day, for the second time in his life, Sherlock felt a warm, wet tear run down his cheek.

Facing forward once again, he shut the door to his heart and walked away.

He had work to do.


End file.
